Dolphins Are Much Better Than Goldfish
by Toomuchair
Summary: The first proper conversation that Mycroft ever really had with Lestrade was outside Sherlock's hospital room. The only time the two had ever talked was through phoned requests, that were more like orders and general inquires about Sherlock's well being. After Sherlock is sent to hospital, Mycroft and Lestrade don't get off on the best foot and now Sherlock is up to something.
1. Chapter 1

The first proper conversation that Mycroft ever really had with Lestrade was outside Sherlock's hospital room. The only time the two had ever talked in the past was through phoned requests, that were more like orders and general inquires. These would not be about how Lestrade's day went , or if Mycroft knew a good bakery or two. Instead these would be about Sherlock. They had always been about him and they will always would be about Sherlock. Occasionally Lestrade would get phone calls from the British Government ordering him to do another drug bust in Baker Street when Sherlock had been alone in the flat for more than two days. And if it was not an order about a drugs bust, it would be constant questions about Sherlock. Lestrade never knew why Mycroft would ask him these questions, as John lived with Sherlock and not him, but according to John, Mycroft would ask him this question at least ten times a day and would expect a report about Sherlock's week every Sunday evening. After hearing that story, Lestrade considered himself lucky and was rather glad that he didn't live with Sherlock, mostly as he had better things to do that write an essay on Sherlock's behavior and other pointless information about him. Other than Sherlock, the two men had no business with another. They weren't friends and they were certainly never going to be friends. Maybe it was for the better, as Sherlock would have a tantrum over his work being mixed in with family.

Sherlock was the reason that they were even in the same place together. Sherlock had forced to the hospital after a rather unpleasant fall out of a window. Normally Sherlock was as graceful as a ballet dancer, and was normally rather aware of his surroundings. This time he wasn't, as he was insulting Anderson on being an idiot again he was walking backwards into a rather large open window. And there is not much of the story to be told after that, as it was rather obvious what happened as Sherlock was in hospital.

Lestrade was rather shocked about finding Mycroft at a hospital sitting on the floor outside Sherlock's hospital room. Mostly as Mycroft was sitting on the floor and he wasn't worried about getting his suit wrinkled. He didn't even think about Mycroft ever leaving his office. He thought that Mycroft was a robot and would work all through the night, or he just put himself into the cupboard in his office at the end of the day and he would come out in the morning to work again.

"Lestrade, your pacing is driving me up the wall." Mycroft scolded. "Stop it this instant or I will hire someone to murder you."

Lestrade stopped pacing after Mycroft scolded him as if he was his father. Instead of arguing with the British Government, Lestrade sat on the floor next to Mycroft, but was at a respectable distance away, as he was terrified that Mycroft would send him to a country with a death penalty if he wrinkled up his suit.

Mycroft sighed and took out his phone and started to text someone. Lestrade sat there and waited for someone to say something. After five minutes of painful silence and counting the holes in the ceiling -435. It was clear to Lestrade that Mycroft wasn't going to start a conversation.

"Horrible weather isn't it?" Lestrade asked in hopes of starting a conversation with the British Government.

Mycroft looked up from his phone. "I suppose it is." After that the conversation was over and Mycroft went back to his phone. Lestrade counted the amount of cases that he actually solved himself without Sherlock's help in the past five years – Less than twenty.

The shouts of Sherlock shouting and John yelling back equally loud was the only sounds that could be heard in the hospital.

"This is what happens when you don't pay attention and walk backwards."

"John, it is not my fault that Anderson is an idiot!"

"If you were going to fall out of the window, why couldn't it have been on the bags of rubbish instead of the ground. I'm surprised that you haven't broken your kneecap before, with all of the things that you have broken."

"I don't break things that often."

"Tibia and fibula. Clavicle. Mandible. Metacarpals. Radius. And several ribs and most of your toes. Do I need to go on?" John asked, Lestrade also mentally added the amount of concussions and broken toes that Sherlock had acquired over the years of cases before John had come onto the scene.

Lestrade placed his ear against the door to hear more of the conversation as they had stopped arguing and the conversation was at a normal level.

"Stop rubbing in, John, it is not my fault. If you are going to blame someone, it's Anderson."

"It is your fault. You don't drink enough milk, your bones are probably brittle from the lack of milk that you never buy. And did I mention, you falling out of the window?"

After that, the only conversation that filled the silence had stopped, Sherlock must have been in a sulk again, Lestrade thought. He tried to look at Mycroft's phone in hopes that he would be doing something interesting. Instead of actually doing something interesting on his phone, Mycroft was only pretending to text, just so he wouldn't have to talk to him. Greg usually thought that Mycroft was an alright sort of bloke, but right now, Lestrade had decided that Mycroft was his archenemies.

Mycroft looked up from his phone and sighed. "Can you stop looking at my phone; I'm trying to do some work."

"Your phone screen is not on."

"It's a special screen." Mycroft sighed at Lestrade after he smirked at Mycroft's excuse. "Fine, my phone is off. I am saving you the effort of trying to have a conversation with me. You don't need to talk to me, I'm just here to check up on my brother and then I am leaving."

"You look lonely." Lestrade commented as he lent back against the door and folded his arms. "You know that we haven't spoken about anything other than Sherlock?"

"You asked me about the weather, isn't that enough?" Mycroft sighed as if he was being severely punished. "Our paths rarely cross and when they do it involves my brother. We have nothing in common and there is nothing for us to talk about. And if you are wanting to be my friend there is no point in trying, as I don't have time for friends."

"High functioning sociopath too then?" Greg joked while hysterically laughing in hopes that Mycroft would at least crack a smile. Instead Mycroft glared at him. Mycroft wished that Lestrade would die. Lestrade wished that he was dead. Greg considered not asking Mycroft to drinks at the local pub. Mycroft considered getting Lestrade arrested for treason.

"There is no such thing as a 'high functioning sociopath', Sherlock created the term to scare people away from him. Mummy has had him tested for everything that could be possibly wrong with Sherlock, and being a sociopath hasn't come up. I even took it up on myself to research the possibility of Sherlock being a sociopath, he is not. And if you are insistent about talking to me, change the subject as the one about my brother is rather tedious."

Greg flashed a grin at the chance of properly having a conversation with the British Government, it felt like a great honor like winning a large trophy or the lottery. Greg went through his head for all the possible conversation starters he could use.

"Sports?"

"No interest. Why would I want to see men running around in a field in shorts?"

"Because football is quality entertainment." Lestrade sat himself straight against the wall and prepared to defend his favorite thing in the world.

"You only like football as you used to play it at school and you wanted to be a football player, however you got a knee injury that now prevents you from playing it. You were a center midfielder and you were the star player." Mycroft deduced with a raised eyebrow. "I am correct?" He asked even though he had knew the answer.

"That it is bloody amazing!" Greg exclaimed. "I thought that Sherlock was the only one who could do that deduction. How do know so much about football?"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock went through a football phase when he was younger, he played it , watched it and he would read about it. Since I was older, I had to stay for his games. It was absolutely evil. And before you ask, Sherlock was an average player and he will refuse to go for 'kick about' with you and your friends."

"Between Sherlock and I, I'm the more intelligent between the two of us. And before you ask, I won't help with your crime scenes, I have more important things to do than look at corpses, and I dislike legwork."

"I wasn't planning on asking you. You are the British Government and you have to save London from terrorist attacks every week. The fate of London rests on your hands." Lestrade wondered if Mycroft had his own Batcave and if he wore a cape. Mycroft was like Bruce Wayne, both were rich and they could afford a Batmobile. And they had butlers –well Anthea was more of an assistant than a butler, but it was the same. What would Mycroft's alter ego be? Brainman? Umbrella Boy? Super Government? The British Government, was probably Mycroft's alter ego that he used to fight crime with. And The more important problem, what would Mycroft's powers be? Cake eating skills? Being able to fly thanks to his umbrella? Would Mycroft be called Mycroft Poppins, if he had that power?

Mycroft coughed loudly to bring the attention back to him. "My job is not that exciting as you may think. Terrorist attacks only happen a handful of times during the year. I had a meeting discussing the pros and cons of having plastic forks over metal ones in schools. We can discuss that if you want."

"Sherlock always make your job to be more interesting that it is then. I expected you to be chasing the terrorists yourself in a big Batcave of some sort."

Mycroft sent a confused look at the mention of a 'Batcave' , it would have to be something that he would research later, when he had the time. "As I told you before, I dislike the legwork and I would have one of my many contacts to do it for me. I have meetings, do paper work and more things, but that it confidential. Mostly I sit in silence with fifty other men in the Diogenes club. It is not exciting apart from one of them decide to have a heart attack."

"My work is not that amazing either." Lestrade commented with a sigh. "The best bit is the serial killers. as Sherlock gets things done quickly, but it's mostly paper work. I would rather chop off my arm than fill in another form."

"You should consider yourself lucky that my brother goes and saves the day and your career for you. He also tells me that you just eat doughnuts and claim things are not in your division. You do seem to be very productive."

"I do not do that!" Lestrade exclaimed with his ears turning a lovely shade of red. "You're right about Sherlock saving the day with his cheekbones and all that, but the doughnut thing is not true."

"Sherlock has told me that you have an emergency supply of doughnuts in your office, and Sherlock has made an video of all the times you have said things are not in your division, I will need to show it to you. Also you have the nicknames of 'Fatty Lestradey' and 'Doughnut Inspector.' Do I need to carry on?"

"Do you know who started these names, by a chance, as you are the 'British Government'?" Lestrade asked as he pulled out a pen and prepared to write down the culprits names, as he was planning to have a bit of a chat with them.

"That Anderson fellow, the one who Sherlock dislikes and is obsessed with dinosaurs. Also there is Miss Donovan, who I believe is the one who supplies the Yard's doughnuts."

"Thank you for that information, Mycroft." Lestrade commented as he wrote down the two names on his hand. "I could get you charged for breaching into the Yard's computer system, you know?"

"Of course I know, I am the British Government." Mycroft scolded. "And you should know that I can put some incriminating file on your computer hard drive and it will led to immediate incarnation."

"I know that." Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You don't scare me, if I can put up with one Holmes, I can put up with the other one. I'll take all of your threatening behavior is because you are worried about your brother."

Mycroft snorted loudly and rolled his eyes. "Why would I be worried about my idiot of a brother? He was the one who fell out of a window. I would be concerned about him, if someone pushed him out of the window."

"You must be so popular at your club." Lestrade muttered. "Everybody must love Mr Holmes."

"Well Mr Holmes has prevented Britain from being destroyed by rather large bombs on multiple occasions. I think that everyone must Mr Holmes."

"Does Mr Holmes get called something other than Mr Holmes at work?"

"Mr Holmes gets called Mycroft only when he is not in work or on informal Fridays."

"I thought that Mr Holmes would be called something on the lines of 'Your majesty' or 'Master'."

"Mr Holmes is only called that in informal affairs, and that is in the bedroom, but you won't be wanting to go in there."

The rest of the hospital went silent, all activity stopped. Lestrade didn't say anything and just started at Mycroft, who was just smirking, It had been two minutes and Lestrade hadn't said anything, mostly as his mind had crashed like a virus filled Microsoft product. Lestrade's mind had to still reboot, but the only thought that was going through his head was the questions of was Mycroft making a joke? Or was he in fact making a move on him? Mycroft must have joked, but then again he said it with his normal tone of voice. Did Mycroft like people that way? Mycroft was sniggering quietly to himself, Lestrade would have yelled at him, except his brain had to reboot. From the amount of time it was taking, his brain was running windows vista.

John walked out of the room and stopped, when he saw Lestrade sitting on the floor with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, and Mycroft was sitting on the floor smirking and chuckling to himself. Lestrade looked as if he was going to need therapy, from what ever Mycroft had ever done to him, John picked up a pen from his pocket and scribbled his therapist's number on Lestrade's hand, and ordered him to call her.

Lestrade nodded and stood up and poked his head into Sherlock's room for a few seconds and muttered something about Mycroft and Sherlock replied with something about goldfish, after this conversation with Sherlock, Lestrade walked out of the hospital calling the number that John had written on his hand.

Once Lestrade was out of sight, John stood in front of Mycroft and folded his arms and gave him his best intimidating look that he used on Sherlock when he was having a tantrum over not being able to keep a dead sheep in his bed. "What did you say to Lestrade?" John questioned with his best tone of authority. "I have never seen him like that before. You have broken Lestrade!"

"I haven't said anything to him." Mycroft replied with false innocence. "We only discussed the weather and work."

John sighed and crossed his arms, and muttered something about the Holmes brothers being idiots, mostly as one fell out of a window and the other had destroyed Lestrade by talking about a rather mundane topic.

Mycroft stood up and brushed the imaginary dust off his suit and shoved past John as he made his way into his brother's room. Sherlock was shouting a nurse who was crying her eyes out. Mycroft shook his head, why did his parents decide to give him a little brother instead of the Dalmatian that he wanted? He quickly ordered the nurse out of the room after giving her a twenty pound note to apologize on Sherlock's behalf. Sherlock then ordered John out of the room with the demand of coffee.

Exactly two minutes after John had left, Sherlock started to smirk at his brother. "The hospital walls are surprisingly thin; you had a rather interesting conversation with Gavin Lestrade."

"I don't see what is interesting about the weather. It's not like we exchanged government secrets or anything of great importance."

"You do the claim that you are the smarter one between the two of us, but you do lack social intelligence. It's your own fault that you are lonely."

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled as he rolled his brother's stupidity.

"Sure you're not." Sherlock smirked. "You had a conversation with Graham, and then you ruined it on purpose, so you could push him away from you. And you pretended to text someone, so you didn't have to talk to him. I thought that you would be better than that, and not use childish methods to stop making friends."

"I don't want Lestrade to be my friend. Every single person in this planet, is a goldfish to me, and they are ever so predictable."

"If one of us can make a friend, so can you. One of us is a high functioning sociopath."

"That term doesn't even exist, Sherlock." Mycroft scolded as if Sherlock was a small child. "As I have told you before; I. Am. Not. Lonely. Do I need to tell you that in different languages? French; Je ne suis pas solitaire. Italian; Non sto solo. Do I even need to tell you in Binary? Zero, one, zero-"

Sherlock cut Mycroft by shoving his pillow into his face. "You can stop acting clever. I am not an idiot. "

Mycroft removed the pillow from his face and shot Sherlock a deathly glare. "You are saying that you are not an idiot?" Mycroft asked. "Do I need to remind you who fell out of a window while insulting someone?"

"Anderson distracted me and you know it!" Sherlock exclaimed with a hiss like an angry cat. Why did everyone have to keep reminding him about him falling out of the window? Come to think of it, people only remember all the idiotic things that he had done, John only remembers when he got covered in all substances in the kitchen when he actually did make breakfast, but he didn't remember the success Sherlock experienced when he didn't set the kitchen in flames.

Sherlock decided to ignore his brother's comments about how much of an idiot he was. Deciding that his brother was probably lonely and was taking out his frustrations of being alone on him, he would let his brother have this insults just for today. "But you are." He pointed out even though that his brother was rather instant that he was lonely, but then again Mycroft was always rather insistent about things when he was lying, maybe this is how Mycroft did so well in his political career. "I wouldn't object to you making friends. George is a suitable match and he can give me more cases if you create a bond together. You can be friends with benefits."

Mycroft started to make a gurgling noise at the back of his throat at the shock of Sherlock using a term, that common people used. "Sherlock…Do you even know what that means?" He spluttered. When Sherlock shook his head, Mycroft sighed loudly and considered getting Sherlock a slang dictionary. "What do you think it means?"

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment as he went through his Mind Palace to try and find the definition of 'Friends with benefits.' He had no idea about what the definition of the term was, he heard it from the telly when he was watching the programs where you find out who is the father of their child. Mycroft swore that he would hear the gears in Sherlock's head turning. After a few moments, Sherlock thought that he knew the answer to Mycroft's question. "It is when you are friends with someone and they give you something that you want or need, like car insurance."

"I think that you need to ask Mrs Hudson for the answer. I'm sure that she will be delighted to answer it for you. Also I recommend that you go outside more and then you can learn more street slang."

Sherlock shrugged at his brother's suggestion and for a few moments the room fell silent. Mycroft had taken to staring out of the window and Sherlock started to deduce the people from the small glass panel on the door. After a few minutes, Sherlock spoke. "Maybe if Lestrade is a goldfish, he can forget that conversation that you messed up. Goldfish have short attention spans, and Lestrade's attention span is only three minutes long. So he will forget it ever happened. Like how you deliberately forget your diet, when there is a cake in the room."

Mycroft gently slapped the back of Sherlock's head with his hand at the mention of his many diets. He wasn't that bad with his diets, but Sherlock kept ruining them by buying muffin baskets for him and leaving him at his office and the club. "The diet is going fine, I've lost seven and a half pounds." He stated to show that despite Sherlock's efforts to ruin his diets, he was still going strong.

"I don't think that you need a goldfish." Sherlock commented as he ruffled his hair back into perfection.

"I'm glad that I managed to knock some sense into you, or was that the fall from the window?" Mycroft asked with a smirk, he wasn't going to let Sherlock live that down and it was perfect blackmail material, he could use it to get Sherlock to visit Mummy when she wanted.

"Maybe, you just need to find a dolphin instead. Dolphins are much better than goldfish and they are much more intelligent." Sherlock suggested. "Or, you can stop being such a shark and eating all the little fish who approach you." Sherlock commented with a smirk.

"Stop being so ridiculous." Mycroft sighed as he picked up his umbrella and slid his coat on.

"Maybe while you are here you can learn not to be such a nuisance. I need to save Britain now, so I must leave, don't upset anymore nurses."

"I can't promise you anything." Sherlock smirked. "But for you, I will try."

"You must be on good medicine, as this is the longest conversation that we have had with no one crying from it. Why are you so concerned about my social well being? You have never cared about it before, so why now?" Mycroft asked, as this was the nicest his brother had ever been to him, in all their years of knowing one another. Even when they were children, they didn't get on well and their dislike for one another carried on for a while. Sherlock always took pleasure when they were younger, that Mycroft had no friends, but then again neither did he and he only had Redbeard to talk to.

"Well," Sherlock said after a moment, for he didn't have an idea about why he was being nice to his brother and started to hope that it was the medicine that was doing it to him and not him becoming soft. John's kindness was starting to rub off on him and he didn't like it. "I think everyone needs to find their goldfish, and that even includes you. I found a goldfish and I think that you could get yourself one."

"I don't have the time to find a 'goldfish', and I don't intend to get one. And for the last time Sherlock, I am not lonely. The greatest heroes on the planet do not have one and they do perfectly fine without someone to annoy them."

"Even if heroes did exist, they'd be lost without their sidekicks. Even the most powerful heroes, need someone to be there for them. Everyone needs a Watson."

After Sherlock's comment, John walked back into the room as if he had been waiting for Sherlock to say his name, just so he could enter the room. John looked rather angry and started at Sherlock with a severe look that could resemble a rather angry mother. "Sherlock, is there any reason that you have made thirteen nurses cry?" He asked. "They're considering getting you in trouble for harassment. Mrs Hudson is not going to be happy with you, she is already upset about the dead owl in her flat."

"Maybe Lestrade might come over and give me a warning for it, Mycroft you should stay a bit longer, so you can talk to him." Sherlock suggested with a smirk that was directed to Mycroft.

"I am leaving now. Good evening, Dr Watson" Mycroft said as he tilted his umbrella in John's direction. As he left the room, he could swear that he heard Sherlock talking about goldfish. Rolling his eyes at his brother's obsession with the fish he left the hospital thinking of boring things, to prevent himself thinking too much about what Sherlock had told him.

Later that evening, despite all of his efforts to push the thoughts about his head about if he was lonely. He couldn't be lonely, he had Anthea, but then again, he paid her and according to all the books he had read about the topic, you didn't pay friends. The closet thing that Mycroft had to a friend was Sherlock, and he could only tolerate him in small amounts. Maybe Sherlock was right, he was lonely.


	2. Operation Goldfish

"I don't think that you should get involved in your brother's personal life, Sherlock." John groaned for the fifteenth time in the last ten minutes since Mycroft had left the hospital. Sherlock had been going on about finding his brother a 'goldfish' whatever that had meant. John found it rather concerning that Sherlock was taking a great deal of interest in his brother, as normally he ignored him, unless he wanted something. Maybe this was a good thing; maybe it was a sign that Sherlock was becoming more of a 'human' instead of just being a machine. But then again, Sherlock did prove he had a heart at least once a day to John, from the sleepy morning declarations of love in the morning when John would leave for work, to the time when Sherlock even bought the milk or even that he 'died' for John, showed that despite everything, Sherlock was human. John didn't know what sprung Sherlock onto his new obsession of Mycroft's personal life, something must have happened when he was apologizing to the nurse for on Sherlock's behalf. "If your brother wants to get a goldfish, I think that he can buy one himself. He is the British Government, he can do anything that he wants to do."

"Mycroft says that he doesn't want something, but he does, he just doesn't know it yet." Sherlock replied. "Everyone needs a goldfish. Even the most high functioning sociopath needs his goldfish."

"I am hoping that is a complement." John commented. "I don't know if I should either be thankful or offended by that."

"You are more than a goldfish to me, John, you are even better than a dolphin." Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand from the other side of the bed. "You're my John, and nothing else can be better to me."

"I don't know if that is you talking or the medication, but that is the nicest thing that you have ever said to me. You're still not doing the experiment with the owl though, nice try." Sherlock sighed loudly and wondered when John decided to become rather boring and sensible, that was a lie, John was the world's most amazing person in the world and he made tea –thank you very much. Usually when Sherlock decided to say something like that it was so he could butter John up and get what he wanted. He did mean those things that he would say to John, but he would show it rather than tell it, they do say that actions speak louder than words, one action from Sherlock was about a million words to John and they said the sweetest things, that anyone could possibly imagine. These actions express everything, that Sherlock couldn't express.

"That is so dull, John." Sherlock complained like a child who was refused sweets by his parents. "Can we still do Operation Goldfish? It has a really cool name."

John rolled his eyes and took note that it was definitely the medicine that was talking, as Sherlock never used such informal language normally, and last time he used the word 'cool' was after a trip to the dentist to get wisdom teeth taken out. Also on that dentist trip, John ended up getting bitten from Sherlock, who was rather convinced that he was a vampire and John was his 'maiden.' "What exactly is 'operation Goldfish'?" John asked, even though he had to admit that it was a rather cool name.

"We find Mycroft his goldfish." Sherlock explained with a sigh. "Mycroft is lonely and needs to get a goldfish, so he isn't as lonely as he is now." "A pet fish, isn't going to stop him from being lonely. Goldfish don't do much, Mycroft would be better off with a dog or a cat."

"You think that I am talking about getting Mycroft a pet?" Sherlock asked with a hint of humor in his voice. John nodded his head and ignored Sherlock's laughter at him. "I am not talking about getting my brother a pet, John. I am talking about getting Mycroft someone like you. I want to get Mycroft a friend or more than that."

"You want to get your brother a boyfriend?" John spluttered. "Is that is what a goldfish is? A boyfriend?"

"Of course John." Sherlock smirked. "Mycroft is rather lonely and it's about time he gets someone. It could stop him from being such an annoyance."

"So if you are getting Mycroft a boyfriend, who is it going to be? You must have someone in mind."

"Gaston Lestrade."

"What?" John spluttered like a fish that had been taken out of the water. "Lestrade and Mycroft would never work. Mycroft broke Greg, just by talking about the weather."

"Mycroft wasn't talking about the weather, John. I thought that you would be able to hear the conversation, the walls are rather thin. Mycroft being the person he is, brought up sex into the conversation and ruined it. It's a shame; Lestrade and Mycroft were getting along swimmingly."

John opened his mouth again and started to resemble Lestrade when he had found him. The Microsoft product in his head had just entered the blue screen of death and was needing to reboot. John started to wonder if Mycroft was even human went through his head, and if Mycroft actually had a sex drive let alone a mini umbrella down below. Mycroft had to be human as he wouldn't be alive. Not unless Mycroft was like Pinocchio and he would learn to become a 'real boy.' Sherlock sighed and wondered why his brother talking about sex had this effect on people. Maybe if his brother was more normal, people wouldn't react like that when he brought up some taboo topic.

"John, I am going to call a nurse if you don't talk in the next two seconds. I am not one to normally say this, but you are scaring me. Please tell me that your brain cells are not dying or Anderson will end up getting murdered the next time that I see him for passing on his lack of intelligence onto you." Sherlock threatened as he glared down at his leg that was now almost covered by a bright orange cast. It was a well-known fact that Sherlock disliked the fruit so much, that he even disliked the color because of it. But since Sherlock was on some lovely painkillers, he had decided that he wanted the cast to be orange, much to his dislike later on when he had come to his senses.

"I thought that you would want to murder Anderson for making you fall out of the window." John smirked.

Sherlock sighed loudly and took the mental note of how many times that him falling out of the window had been mentioned in the past two hours –forty two times. Deciding that it was probably best not to tell John off for bringing up the window again, as John seemed to take delight at his embarrassment, he had decided to ignore John's comment. "So are you going to help me with Operation Goldfish then?" Sherlock asked in the hopes that John would stop talking about the window.

"I don't think that I have a choice about it, do I?" John asked with a groan when Sherlock shook his head.

"I doubt that you are going to let me go around chasing criminals for a while." Sherlock said as he gestured to the orange monstrosity that was on his leg. "I am going to need something to do, while Lestrade does my work for me. I think that Operation Goldfish will be a social experiment for everyone involved. I have already started phase one of the plan, and we just need to wait for the results."

* * *

Gregory Lestrade was used to the unusual, but then again he has put up with Sherlock Holmes for over five years, and there is not much that you can say about that. Greg was a man who could cope with the strange and unusual things in life and as a reward for that, he was given the title of detective inspector of the homicide department at Scotland Yard. But he couldn't explain why Mycroft Holmes had made him go to therapy for the first time in his life. John had recommended his therapist as apparently she was meant to be one of the best in London, and after visiting Sherlock in his hospital room, he found himself in an arm chair opposite a woman with a clip board.

He didn't even know why he was there, he had no reason to be getting asked question by a woman. He had just gone to the therapist, because John had ordered him to go in his voice that he used when Sherlock was being a bit of a child. "So, Greg," Ella asked as she moved forward in her chair. "Is there a reason that you are paying me a visit today?"

Greg sighed. "I don't think there is. I don't exactly want to be here, but I was forced to come here by John."

"If you don't want to be here, why haven't you left yet?" Ella asked as she reached over for her clipboard. "You could have left at anytime, but you are still here. Clearly you need to talk about something."

"We can talk about something if you want. How about the weather?" Greg asked in hopes that it would make Ella just send him home.

"The weather is fine." Ella stated with a slight edge to her voice. "Gregory, why are you here?"

Greg sighed as he realized that he wouldn't be going out of the therapists office without telling Ella what had been going on and the hospital incident. "Let's say that you know someone for a while and you think that you know them quite well." Ella nodded and started to write down some notes. "But then they do or say something that you wouldn't expect them to say, what would you say to that?"

"I would be wondering if I knew the person as well as I thought." Ella said thoughtfully. "But it depends what they said to me that would change my perception of them."

"How about if you were friends with a nun for example, and then they brought up the issue of sex, what would you think?" Greg asked.

"I would think that they weren't dedicated to their career path." Ella said with a smirk. "I think that you just need to forget about what happened, and don't let this ruin your friendship. It is not worth it."

"We are not exactly friends. I don't know what is the correct term for us. He phones me to check his brother' flat for drugs, I don't think that is really friendship."

"Is his brother Sherlock Holmes?" Ella asked with a raised eyebrow.

"How did you know?" Greg asked. "Don't tell me that he goes to you for therapy as well. He is a self-proclaimed 'high functioning sociopath,' but he would be needing a better therapist. No offence."

"John complains about the drug busts sometimes. I'm a therapist, people tell me everything, even the most pointless things. I think that you should go home and try and get things sorted with this person."

"I thought that you were going to tell me to start a blog or something."

"The blog doesn't really work. John ends up writing more about Sherlock than himself. But if you want you can write one."

Greg picked up his jacket and stood up, after deciding that he would rather not start a blog as it would be the most boring thing on the internet. There would be nothing on it apart from posts about doughnuts and ones on how to work with a high functioning sociopath. After making his excuse to leave by saying there was another murder, Greg left the therapist.

As he made his way to his flat, he noticed his neighbor standing by the door and locking it. "Oh, hello dear." She greeted as she placed the spare keys back under the mat. "I don't think that you would mind me putting your delivery in the flat, the man said that it needed to be put in the flat as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Mrs Miggins." Greg said as he tried to think about when he last ordered something online. He didn't remember even looking at the Amazon website. Maybe it was his wife sending pictures of the PE teacher again. "I need to get ready for work now, go and give your cat a pat on head for me." Greg lied as he went into the flat. He didn't dislike Mrs Miggins, in fact she was the only one allowed in his flat when he wasn't there. The problem was that she tended to drone about her cat for a long time, and it was rather boring to listen to, besides Greg was more of a dog person anyway. Mrs Miggins patted his shoulder before going to next door to complain about the cat with them instead.

Greg sighed in relief as he walked inside and dumped his keys on the table. He started to rummage around his fridge for a bottle of beer, to recover from the slightly traumatic day that he had experienced. The only cure for the day he had was alcohol and the football, and nothing was going to disturb his plans.

Realizing that he still had a package, Greg made his way into the living room, where he found a large box wrapped like a Christmas present with a ribbon top of the box. Going closer to the box, he had noticed that the paper was decorated with little brightly colored umbrellas.

Before he could actually get to opening it, the phone started to be obnoxious as it started to ring loudly. Greg sighed and wondered who on earth would be phoning him at that time of night, as he didn't have many contacts on his phone book. Looking at the caller ID on the screen, he saw an name that was rarely on his phone; Mycroft's.

* * *

Mycroft had found himself questioning the conversation that he had with Sherlock about him needing a 'goldfish.' He didn't know why he was thinking about it even though it was hours ago, but when you are spending another night alone, you tend to think about all the social interaction that day, even if it was a pointless conversation with your little brother. It was obvious that Mycroft had little friends throughout his life. You could see it as he found it difficult to make conversation with others and he didn't know what to say most of the time and he didn't know any topics that would apply to the common man. If he was with one of the members of his club, he could have a conversation with them swimmingly, as all they talked about was politics and world affairs. It was always so much easier to talk about something that you were an expert on. Normally Mycroft would be happy that he had at least on conversation with someone that day. Mummy would be so proud of him, making friends. But then he had decided to ruin it, in case he got too fond of Lestrade. It always happened, he would talk to someone and almost instantly he would get rather attached to him, and bad things always seemed to happen rather quickly. The only person other than his brother whom he was fond of was Anthea. She seemed to tolerate him and put up with his oddities, but then again, she did have a rather generous pay package.

Throughout the evening, he had revived several messages from his brother. They had all said the same thing; 'Go and talk to your goldfish' or they would contain good cake shops, in case things got that bad. Mycroft was never one to follow his brother's advice, mostly as he was too stubborn to take it and his brother was an idiot. But he found himself in his office with a glass of brandy and a phone in his hand. He thought that he would apologize to Lestrade for his inappropriate conversation, in the hopes that it would clear his mind and allow him to stop thinking about how lonely he was. Anthea had even taken the liberty of writing a script for him, as he found it difficult to form a conversation around the topic of inappropriate conversations.

Deciding that it was now or never, Mycroft took a quick sip of brandy for courage, and started to slowly dial Lestrade's number. For some reason he felt nervous and he didn't know why. The Iceman was never nervous in the high risk situations where Britain was at risk of being in another war, and yet, there he was acting if he was being sent to his death by a phone call. The other line rang two times. Mycroft felt his fear grow. Mycroft felt as if he was going to die that moment, and wondered if it was possible to die from a phone call. It would be a horrible thing to have on his gravestone. Maybe he could pretend that he accidentally pressed Lestrade's name on his phone, when in fact he was trying to phone the Prime Minister or someone who is not as important as him.

The phone clicked, and Lestrade's voice filled the silent room. "Hello?" Greg asked, after a few moments as Mycroft had not spoken since the click of the phone. "Mycroft is everything okay?"

Mycroft looked down at his script in hopes that it would have the answer to the most basic question that he had ever encountered. Mycroft would happily compare his brain to being superior to a supercomputer, but at that moment Mycroft could swear that his brain had melted and was surprised that it hadn't started to leak out of his ear.

"Everything is going swimmingly, Gregory."Mycroft said after a few moments, in a voice that resembled a robots. "I was wanting to apologize for our conversation, at the hospital."

"Mycroft, it is fine. You were worried about your brother and you were probably not thinking right." Mycroft looked back at his script, Anthea had written the almost expected reactions from Lestrade. It wasn't written on the script for Lestrade saying that Mycroft was worried about his brother. The truth be told, Mycroft knew what he was saying and he was only slightly concerned about his brother. He didn't know what to say now, and Lestrade had gone off the script that he didn't have and because of him not having a script, he had ruined Mycroft's script.

"Is there anything else, Mycroft? As I really need to go."

Mycroft looked at his script again and skipped over four lines, until he got to the line of; 'Would you care to converse over a beverage.' "Do you want to-." Mycroft said in one breath and paused before he could finish off his sentence. He started to think, this was not how you made friends. Through all the books that he had read on the topic, they had all said the same thing; friendships just happened, and they weren't scripted.

"Never mind Lestrade, just go and check up on Sherlock and have a drug bust on Sunday. Sorry for wasting your time."

After that he quickly hung up the phone and switched it off. He didn't notice that Anthea had walked in to the room, and what was unusual was that she wasn't glued to her phone and she looked almost sad for him. "You have a package in your office, sir. It is not a bomb or it doesn't contain anything dangerous. And after that the Prime minister is having a crisis again, and you need to help." Mycroft sighed and wondered what the idiot had gotten himself into this time. He quietly thanked Anthea as he picked up his umbrella.

"Anthea, I think that we have known each other, to be on first name terms, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'll go and get the car ready then, Mycroft." She said with a slight smile on her face,even though her eyes were glued back to her phone screen. Maybe he didn't need friends. He and Anthea were on first name terms now and that was all he could have needed. He didn't want friends to come between his work, Britain was his friend, he spent enough time protecting her. The moment that Mycroft had gone back to his home, he found the package sitting on top of his fire place, wrapped up in paper that somewhat resembled the British flag from a distance. As he walked closer he noticed that the paper had pictures of goldfish on it. Knowing that this present was from his brother, Mycroft sighed loudly as he started to carefully remove the wrapping paper.

Underneath the paper there was a fish tank. With a goldfish who was swimming about the tank by itself. Mycroft groaned loudly as he saw the fish and sent a rather angry worded message to his brother, threatening to make him fall out of another window 'accidentally.' The message that he got back from Sherlock was unusual for Sherlock. But then again, what was normality for Sherlock? All it said was;

_I hope that you like your goldfish. I couldn't find a big enough tank to keep a dolphin in. I've named him Graham for you. I hope that a goldfish will keep you occupied, until you can get your dolphin. -SH_

Mycroft groaned loudly and decided that he would murder his brother and he started to pray that Sherlock would stop his silly obsession with goldfish.

* * *

Greg quickly tore off the paper of the gift, in the hopes that it would be a new television or something else that would cost lots of money. Instead he found a goldfish. He started to question why on earth would someone get him a goldfish. There wasn't even an occasion for him to be getting a gift, it wasn't his birthday as that was five months ago, and it was still too early for any other holidays. Maybe the gift was from a secret admirer who stalked him, as they knew his address. Before he could question it any further, he noticed a little skull shaped sticky note lying on the top of the fish tank.

_Gavin, I bought you a goldfish, as I thought that you could use someone else in your life. I've named him Mycroft for you. Mycroft is a lovely name for a goldfish, don't you think. It might even make you think of someone. –SH_

_P.S Lestrade, I am sorry for Sherlock getting your name wrong again. I will make sure he will learn, even if that means shoving him out of a window. –John_

Lestrade looked at the note and reread it several times to try and understand what it meant. He would be able to understand it, if Sherlock was there to deduce everything for him. Why on earth would he need a goldfish? Lestrade thought as he switched on the television. The fish tank was right next to the sofa, and when the images of men running after a ball appeared on the screen, Mycroft the fish seemed to be paying attention to the TV. Deciding that he could do with some company, he started to explain the offside rule to the fish. After going through the rule two more times, just so Mycroft the fish could understand it, Greg considered getting a social life, as it wasn't normal for a grown man to talk to a fish about football. Someone had just scored a goal, and Lestade decided that he would take people's attitude to diets to his social life –It would start tomorrow.


End file.
